
FT MEADE 
GenCol 1 


B4195 


COKY 1 







:^'- 

- ■- v^- ' 




cV^,'|4;i?.,,^,,, 





-^'V ^ - ■ - ..".s, '■ -' -V ^ w \ ii ^'\^ j : 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Ir 


@^|t,~P 2 . 5 iopi|ri 5 ]^t l|o. 

N 


Shelf ']- ■• V 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

;(- 






,x' ■T'-'^'v ' -■> ’’V.*,' i ^ 

J- -V Tv T ^■- /‘^ TaT 




-y'< 


;S 


r>:'v sV-V-'S'mv 


^ ■ -A 


/si'A - ■ X'-'^s 0“^ ■ 






v..w,t "'-; "vV^, /v-'.-v-.'' > - -j- - 

^vX^fs'v' ^ *-'\ " ■-' *’ V 7 ' , ^ 7 ■ .■ V,t,,,,.' V- ; 



tlJf 


fellf '1; V >.:;, 7 

#■=^•1^;-- ' •.. .v.;';'' ■ ■... 

yrfK\y'\^S/ ■ “• V‘:^'•>^/ '’•”. . • - " - •' ’ : ' - T- .y. ^ 


' A?:..-'/* ' '■• '. . ' • ' 'i- ’A C' ^ r " A ■'- ' ■■„■'>< ■■/' ■■ i > --'.t 

A - A ,::a-.i:».V A, A' 
&5w:'>-'A > 'vuv;-:- , ■^'- ';„ ■•; -- , , ■ ■■■■ 7|ki 

WC/V'^ 'A.'ic ■'■ A. ♦' •/:■. "C -'■>',, ■. •■, '''■ \ -7.7 






^ ^ . •...; 7 V-r- . 

-'..f-A 7--^ 7-.A, ,...y; 

^ 7'.( :7v^^'a:7--:' 

^5“ -.'v'-". -:' '■ . • "^■''■-■:v- 

egsiPzAtf-:- -/'yz/i-- . '/'K A? 'tci^i 











■ki I ■■» '•■■■ 




■ .i9>. 


'?-:' 3 </#.-'' — — 










4fy« • i. ., »>»^>Vti-'V' . *:•' > •• ' .. -. ■,;»<' • : * '<*. 

e'v . ,f V .■„.■■• » ■-> ■ • ■' V ' ■ 




,, ft;,, ...V ^ V ; •'- ’■ .S 

'v- »iv,’ ' ■•> . f.- '.<■ '■' V. ' ^j4i •J yvay>f^ 











S')-! 


v;.:.V 4 ,V.v 

, ' : : X,; - :'. 5 


:.-. A’. , ‘, 




ipvi, ''s'V, l>\ ^ r 

-,‘ 4 'k'^* ■' ^ A- ‘ 




w 


•: .\'\'\- r •^^'v ’ (wO JRflCVUW 

1 . J*.'. ■ w , r' ■ V 'v'iP 5 . 


►♦'•1 





^vy .•>■ \.' 




■ ■*' 


> . 


V, .i 

i) •■'‘■'^^.V, 




» w 

■ yi '. 

1 , k-’ ‘ 


m 


T #•> ^ 0. 

V } • .• " f'. 


^ sp 


^ - 

V j 




Jr 

















ii *'1 vT*‘ '• 


j;? iJ: 




V: 


9tif 




' V'l/ 


■,*, f I 








■> ^ 


:<•;/■ C . 


P fj‘ 


,-V 


?"■ 


■w.\ 




-v/A''' 


1 * 'U 


'; H 








L • • •: t 




K-J 


‘ ' V. 



Lr » V I 


» \ n i , . ^ <1* ’r 

% :i ^*.1,. ■ ' , ■ J*-l - ■•>., . ■ . 'S ■ ■*-^‘ 


VJl 


> . . Viv 








'/ffi 


\^A:\ 


r * 


K^.A 


.'W 


^Jr^ 


> if*.' 




r. 






T ' 


•V*)i^ 




^'1 


^>1 




'U 












M.-V 


A , 




*VN 




'i* rl' f» 




/ ..[H 


.fry 


K'^-: 


Mi 


ji* < 


Vii 


VH' 


.:-A^'’.' ■ r:\ . ., ... 

:r-!,,4'''t- '■'' "': '*>“ 

:"'v:y ; ^ •. t>" ’ ' fill.- ■ . 

.. . ;'■ V ' 

■ - ' .1.4 " fAj ' ' r ^ 1 





.rt 


i.'‘V 


-f •. 









^'.^i 








bSi 




J » »»r 


t\ »'i* 


:•#;■■ r.y., * 

*,gi'.p ' '■'''> V'l' V'f ' <' ■‘■.'ll* , I 

i«Wv-v; vj 

W' « ?•' '•' ^ -h •'< • • ■ .' '. ■ •' . ■ '■' 1 * ' 

■J'^ ’ ; . .;< '»^^k'l;;^ 


'A 







m 




6m-‘ 


K t. 


I'k'WJ 




.': i 














!*’ f J 


k.i-.ii ’p» 


* * ** 


r-t 


m^. 






i* 


fM 




> V.Tfc^ 

^MTaW 


Wp ^^ •) . . 

^ W'lnStri ' ^ 'J 4 ' • '# ' VC' 


' ' 4-''' 

ynH . ■; .,A. /• ' 

'' ' i ' v» sf . Mmm 



hii 


m. 


VMt. 


' v'', 

' '^.'p ■ "''4'i^ 

, ' V , . \ ' v* 


■ -■«, 


PS 




-. V.'; rifcr/J 




' r 




'r*;v,'‘ 




t>V' . ,.'A 


■'H; 


Q<k' 








■.. * M -,. 

; yl- 


VJ»; 








r* 5 ^ 


'A' 




IKr ' •"’ ■, " JlPi' '.' ,. .‘p; ^ rv i, ' Km;\ 


't*r: ’ »< 



' ''p.' iSKSSBUlIQCr'^. ' 

Lrarrii jo. 'onnsMMi . » ^ . *r \ '' , • 


iy*,fv 


■ vT‘ 




1 >- 


W 







M* 


I i p . '^ *^ ■* * 


« V . ■•; >«' ‘A ^ * 

. 'T ' ^>'' •’' * ’• ^‘><31 

,#•> < 1 -^. *, ' 6 ' “'vJ* . 

■w^i 

r*. f 


P-, V. /. '. . •//;•, 



/JJr 

’■’fs Mi'f,. if dr 


•'i' 

Uf/,J «i » *1 'i ‘ 4 ■ ’ '• r I ' ' ' 

.fv-A ^ ■ 

'^K M!‘fA i' v- ^’S• - 






XI-IE: 


WRITTEN LEAVES 


A. STORY OR THK NEW YKAR 


AND 


OTHER HOEIOAY STORIES 


BELLE BELLEVILLE 






i-3 a / 


CINCINNATI 

Robrrt Clarke & Co 


1802 


TZl 


Copyright, 1890 and 1892 
By author 


[Aii rights reserved^ 


CONTENTS 




A Story of the New Year, ....... 5 

The Christmas Card, 47 

The Advent of the New Year, 69 

Cleopatra in Hades, 83 


1- 







i 


' V' I • ^ 




' j^YxTv 



v ■ " ' #W- 4 VVv ' ^ ' 

,:«t* 

-wBiK..' hH 


■EBk V !'v, ^ 7 a> U , 







'* ' '-'v ^ 't'tM ' V .’■■.• ■ • , ,■ ;• ‘ 

: ■r> >:.* V:^-: •-•<■ •, ' ■' I 

FtkVJ/'MUL 






fw', 








rJaiB&j BBgaMl , A,v •' ■ ‘ 

• V ^ ^ '>■■ V'AC; vj 

r I /,A’ I ' • ■ ' '.1 

^ ^ «A , 


:i?! 




L.'' 


. ' V VjI 


> > 


AM"' 


• I . . »_ife »_ i> I . 'k< • 


1 / 

.'K 


■ 


" - 

* 

•• \ 


\ 


f. 

L : 






iV.j'A 


J '■ 




< .• 


^ . ' * • • ' < . , I • 

. 'r /- . .1^ 




'<* ■ 






'■’r.'Wx r 

l&T.'miv" ' inliitBiitri ‘.'‘^w;.' : • ; 'i «,.'A'’- v. vi ' ■ 'I'/ i t !■• .iv ’ 1 /’' 


• A 

i 




♦ ' /I <1 


pv* 




:7: 


■>. ,’^ 7.5 - ‘ '. , r'‘.\ . .V- V ■ .'■»■ T ^' • ‘:'K. 

“ A:>;. : ■^■ 7 ' ' ^ ’ r %■> ’^ 7 ^ 4 . 


r 










^ f ' . . j . ^ 

^ ' ' i-’i r 


w.rv 4 - 


V ;-,j 


*‘^4'i‘ 


«*J 




■nw 


► 7 A*»V 




V" 


t», ■ -Tajir 






■■A.';-' . 


t* Ay-. «- 


i; 


M, - 'j'’ v' )»' 


V’’^ 


L'r 


{i- 




V J 




-TStf 


•> '- J'i 




V 7 



'*^ 1 


• ) , 






11 A P < S 

.‘' ' - j. 


' P ' ■ * 


♦ it- - vV .1 ‘ • 

.7*7,. 

' . *i»y .'j 


^ ■ '■ > . ■•• ^ '"■' JK’’ 'i “ -c ' ■ ' ;• ' >V' - ' ■■'* ’' 37 ' A 

" .,. ; ^.A'. 7:7 

7.Saulm\J^^ AiA.y'i.. 



t * 


WWa^Sm'^ '"SmmWjrl ■ ■: ■ ":h.,"(, .•.' .< ■ .n> sr , •: 


■kSdHI^S^ I vV * ^ o f ^ 1 ^^ 

I * >»r /..^V V, ) 

mKKMXmBK^ i ' . - ' 



« I 


. ,. -■- '.■ -: ■ ■, a® 


If* A 





Liiysfu'y • 


f^-. * 


/ ^' . I 


■: rAy‘ 



kr'' 

Pi:'.' ■*'./:; /^M*.'' 




» ♦ , . , . ' "•' I* I 

■ f^\ ■ •' '• / . '. vf'^^ 



’^' ' ''.. A' ■ ^ 7 ?' yy . 

■r- 




*«. > 


*v • 


••’'■■■ .i-’ . ■ w Y -.-.t -v,' 

^ t 




'' -f^ 

■Ap''-A 

• .> . ' kiy/ 

^'. . . ACi r • ♦ 



: -V ' " '‘n -y 

iJbUy . -';-;aV:aW . a Jj?-/,:' 

■ * ' ' ^-i • nk * » - ■ 




'A 

.' *v 


r»'-4 *r‘ A, 


A' 

V* •“ 


iP.'i, 


. f 


'. A . 





-The Written Leaves 


A STORY OF THE NEW YEAR 


1 









I 



s* ‘ 

.■ r . 




\ 





^ / 

I 

•n 


. »■ V n 

• * ' 


/ 


f 


N . 


. "J 

•* 

« . 

I 


t 


1 


s 


i 


\ 


\. 





4 I 









y < 


I ^ 

- < 

> 



% 




, \ 


I 





t 




* 

t> 



d 


V 


S 


f 

f 


.\ 


/ 


i 


I 


•e t 



« 


’ 

«* 

, f 


t 


t 


i 


' 


* 



»* 


\ 


I 


I 



I 

I 






* 


k 


« 


1 1 






f 


i 


t 


\ 



* 


S 


l 


» • ' ' I 

^ * . 




The Written Leaves. 

A STORY OF THE NEW YEAR, 


CHAPTER I. 

At the witching hour of twelve, when the 
Old Year departs, and the New Year descends 
silently and unseen upon the earth, they pause 
upon the portals of Life, and of Death. 

As the New Year merrily greets the Old, the 
Old Year murmurs a sad farewell; and amid 
the chime of their voices, the Old Year to the 
New Year, passes The Book of Life. 

On one occasion, at the passing of the Old 
Year; it chanced, that when the wind arose to 
waft the portals closed, it was most unkindly 
nipped by King Frost; and becoming boister- 
ous, almost snatched The Book of Life. 

For a moment, it was in imminent danger of 
falling upon the earth ; but with the tenacity of 

( 5 ) 


6 


The Written Leaves. 


new life, the fingers of the young year closed 
tightly upon it. But not too quickly, for many 
leaves were scattered ; and drifted softly among 
the snowflakes, to the earth. 

They fell at the feet of a Philosopher, who 
was out in his garden, observing the state of 
the weather; and mentally casting the horo- 
scope of the New Year. “ If, just on the eve 
of the New Year — aye, of the year 1893 — ^^e 
civilization of the world, has not advanced 
further, — than it has.” — Here his cogitations 
were interrupted, by what seemed to be unusu- 
ally large drifts of snow, flying through the air. 
His senses were quickly on the alert, for the 
scientific consideration of the phenomenon. 

He looked up at the sky. As it gave no 
response to his inquiries, he looked to the 
earth ; and lo ! at his feet, lay many Written 
Leaves. 

He gathered them up hastily, and as he en- 
tered the house, the bells ceased chiming; and 
the year 1893 had entered upon its career. 


I 


A Story of the New Year. 7 

All the house was still, the lights were out, 
the fire burned low. All humanity seemed to 
slumber. A strange sleepiness overcame For- 
tunatus ; for, as he touched the Leaves from 
The Book of Life, he became amenable to its 
laws. 

Morpheus softly closed his eyelids, and smiled ; 
to think how often this same philosopher, For- 
tunatus, — had rebelled against the decrees of 
life. 


CHAPTER II. 

The day came fitfully, and uncertain. Aurora 
was loth to saunter forth. Boreas blew his 
trumpets loud and strong. The snow would 
fain cover the earth with a white mantle, the 
rain would fall in a bounteous shower. But 
King Frost changed it into a glittering sheen. 

The first to arise in the household of For- 
tunatus, was Apollo. His face was as clouded 
as the sky, for this was not the day of his 


8 


The Written Leaves, 


imagining. Had he not planned it, fair and 
bright ; in golden light ? And now, his visions 
were frozen by the chilled air. 

He descended to the library, to seek conso- 
lation from Fortunatus. The fire was burning 
brightly, and lit the room, but it was vacant. 
He looked gloomily out of the window at the 
drizzling rain and flurrying snow, and then 
turned to the glowing fire. As he gazed idly 
into it, he started. He found himself musing, 
upon the same thoughts that had occupied his 
mind for many years. But yesterday, he had 
vowed to cast them to the winds ; yet the 
wretched day had chained him to the past. 
But the year was new, and the thoughts of 
every one should receive a new impetus. 

He turned, and walked across the room and 
back again, and then stood before the mantel, 
looking at a superb copy of Guido’s Aurora. 
He had been familiar with the picture from 
childhood ; yet, it always possessed the same 
fascination for him. As he gazed upon it, his 


A Story of the Notjo Year. 9 

day became one of unclouded light. As the 
fire met his glance, he remembered that for 
those bright rays, unto Prometheus, should be 
rendered thanks. 

Thus he had defied the gods, to serve mor- 
tals; and by the gods he was chained eter- 
nally. 

“Oh! Myths,” he exclaimed, “mortals were 
ever slaves to them.” But these myths, were 
his heritage by grace of name. For was he 
not Apollo ? and so a god among gods ? and 
yet a mortal among mortals ? and as such, he 
would strive to destroy the illusion of all 
gods. 

And as Prometheus, he would be chained, — 
not by gods, but by mortals, — to rocks of Soli- 
tude. And the waves he would hear ever 
dashing, would be the surging of the voices 
of mortals, ever vibrating, — and the whirr of 
vulture-wings, that would fly above his head, 
would be the echo of adverse opinions, re- 
sounding in the air. He was powerless to 


lO 


The Written Leaves. 


decree, that wisdom should ever reign supreme. 
But there was one hope. The hope that old 
errors being dead, mortals would, themselves 
become immortal. And then Life — Life for- 
evermore. 

As Apollo paced the room, looking at and 
seeing nothing but his own thoughts ; he passed 
and repassed the table, upon which lay the 
precious Leaves from The Book of Life. At 
last he impetuously flung open the door, and 
departed into the darkness of the world. 

But he illumined his pathway, wherever he 
went. When in his presence, many fancied 
that the cares of life were lightened ; and those 
who were long in his company, felt them de- 
part a^ if they had wings ; and they were 
forgotten. ' He was well called Apollo. His 
liair had caught the gleam of the sun ; and 
upon his cheek, rested the rosy tint of morn. 


A Story of the New Year. 


1 1 


CHAPTER III. 

Fortunatus had at first, slept the deep sleep 
of forgetfulness. That sleep, in which cares and 
sorrows are unknown. 

But soon the nymphs of Dreamland, hovered 
around him ; and before him, he ever saw The 
Written Leaves. One moment, the inscriptions 
were in Sanscrit ; and the next, they appeared 
in the form of Egyptian Hieroglyphics. But 
most often, the letters were illuminated. One 
instant, they would seem to glow brightly, al- 
most revealing a sentence ; and then, fade from 
sight. 

At last, he read one line. It was this: “Read 
thou the Truth,” — and he awoke, — in the broad 
daylight. 


12 


The Written Leaves > 


CHAPTER IV. 

Apollo had not left the library many minutes, 
when Fortunatus entered. He had awakened 
late. His dream had impressed him, but he 
had thought it all but a dream, and — had dis- 
missed it from his mind. For the night, he 
had often argued, was the time for rest ; and 
people should sleep without dreaming. For 
only the perplexities and anxieties of the day, 
caused dreams. 

He came into the library calmly, and as he 
stopped near the door, to settle his. spectacles 
more firmly on his nose ; his dream was vividly 
recalled to his mind. He walked to the win- 
dow, and looked sternly out. He was solving 
a problem. Why should he, who so seldom 
dreamed, — (and when he did his dreams were 
of the most reasonable character) — why should 
he, have had such a fanciful dream ? He could 
think of no cause for it. This quite destroyed 


A Story of the New Year. 13 

his theories, and the arguments he had used, in 
that Essay which he had published upon “ The 
Cause of Dreams.” If he remembered rightly, 
a certain clause ran so — but he would verify 
it ; and he stepped to the book shelves, and 
took out a small volume entitled — “ The Cause 
and Effect of Dreams.” 

It ran thus : “Any person of good judgment, 
and analytical mind, could easily trace the cause 
of a dream. And such a one, would not allow 
dreams, to have the least effect upon thoughts 
or actions. Dreams could easily be classed un- 
der three heads. They were caused — First, by 
some piece of work that had been done during 
the day, or on some previous day. Second, 
something that had been read, or which had 
been heard. Third, the contemplation of some 
action to be performed, or some event which 
was anticipated.” He believed that to be true 
when he wrote it, and it still seemed reason- 
able. He glanced over two or three pages, 
and then replaced the book. His search was 


14 


The Written Leaves. 


unsatisfactory, and he decided to make a note 
of the occurrence. He sat down by the table 
to write, and the first object his eyes fell upon, 
was — The Written Leaves from The Book of 
Life. 

Ah ! he [remembered it all then, it was plain. 
So, his conclusions were not wrong. Yes, these 
were the same Leaves that he had found in the 
garden. He would have known them anywhere 
by the touch, even if he could not have seen 
them. The texture was rather peculiar. It was 
hardly like ordinary paper ; however, that could 
be examined hereafter. Now for the contents. 
And he settled himself comfortably in his chair, 
for their perusal. He had read for some min- 
utes, when his eyes brightened, and his cheeks 
almost regained the color of youth. 

The retrospective, philosophical look, left his 
eyes as he read eagerly. 

Did those leaves hold the word of Life ? 

When he had finished reading, the door 
opened, and closed quietly. Fortunatus re- 


A Story of the New Year. 1 5 

arranged the Leaves, as he said : “ Niece, here 
are some Written Leaves, which I found in the 
garden last night. I have read them, and their 
contents are quite wonderful. Indeed, most as- 
tonishing. I here find valuable knowledge re- 
corded. I will quote from them, in my book 
upon Mind and Matter. Strange ! that I am 
unable to find the name of the author! But 
they are only some stray leaves, and the owner 
will soon be inquiring for them. I know of no 
one in the city, who could have written so finely 
and so clearly.” 

“ But Uncle, do you not ^remember, that to- 
day the Prehistoric Society has a meeting which 
you promised to attend ?” 

“ I had forgotten it. I will first make a few 
notes.” 

“ But you will not have time. You know 
that the distance is great, and the morning is 
almost gone.” 

“Ah! is it ^o late? I am expected to read 
a paper, upon a most important subject, — ‘The 


V 


i6 


The Written Leaves. 


Influence of History upon Civilization/ I will 
now go. In the meanwhile, you must read 
these Written Leaves. I have not read any 
thing that gave me more satisfaction for many 
a day.” 


CHAPTERS. 

The inmates of the house of a Philosopher, 
are more or less affected by the philosophical 
atmosphere, and their ideas are apt to be 
clouded. They can not decide upon the truly 
exact way of viewing the universe. 

The members of the household of Fortunatus, 
were all sure, that the affairs of this world were 
entirely out of its orbit ; but could easily be 
swung into place again, if his or her theories 
were followed. But their opinions were all dif- 
ferent, and no greater pleasure could be expe- 
rienced by each one of them, than to point out 
to the others, the fallacies of their respective 


views. 


A Story of the New Year, 1 7 

When Fortunatus had left the room, Sappho 
replenished the fire ; and drawing an easy chair 
beside it, began to read the precious Leaves. 

As she read, her face shone with pleasure. 
When she had finished, the gleam of a smile 
lingered on her lips, and she sat musing. But 
not for long, for the spell was broken. The 
door opened, and Apollo entered. 

Sappho arose, and greeting him pleasantly, 
her face all smiles, she said : “ Have you read 
these Written Leaves? You will find them in- 
teresting. And I am glad to tell you, that I 
am entirely right in all my opinions. 

Apollo — I am well aware that you think so, 
but you can never prove the truth, of them. 
Your arguments are all false. 

Sappho — I do not ask you now, to listen 
to me. Here, in these Written Leaves, is the 
evidence that I am right. Read for yourself, 
and be convinced, — that it is you, and your ideas 
of life, — that are all wrong. In these Written 


2 


1 8 The Written Leaves, 

Leaves, lie charms most potent, that will loose 
the chains which bind your reason. So fare- 
well, ’til eventide. 

“Stay, O stay, dearest Sappho!” implored 
Apollo. But the door closed, and he was left 
alone with the Leaves from The Book of Life. 

He stood looking at them, yet hardly seeing 
them. He was reluctant to abandon his own 
thoughts, to read those of another. He uncon- 
sciously touched them, and that touch was 
electrical. In one moment, he was deeply ab- 
sorbed. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Though the air was chill, and the wind 
blew the snow-flakes backward and forward, 
and mostly upward, — as if to force them to re- 
turn from whence they came, — about the table 
upon which lay the Leaves from The Book of 
Life, a slight golden mist hovered. It was of 
the same character as the light that always 


A Story of the New Year, 


19 


surrounded Apollo. When he was among a 
number of people, this light was more percep- 
tible. To all, it was not visible ; and it seemed 
to those who saw it, to be but a reflection of 
his own sunny temper. 

Would The Written Leaves reveal the mys- 
tery of Life? Would they cause him to solve 
its many problems ? 

When Apollo had read them, he laid them 
carefully before him ; and drawing from the 
portfolio some paper, he began writing. He 
wrote rapidly, page after page, as if the thoughts 
crowded one upon another. 

One disturbing air, — a voice, a word spoken, — 
will send a thought astray ; and the golden 
chain of which our fancies are the shining links, 
is severed. 

But the silence was unbroken. The minutes 
became hours, and yet Apollo wrote. 

Suddenly the pen wavered. It was raised, 
and as Apollo held it poised in air, the sun 


20 


The Written Leaves. 


shone out triumphantly, and threw its rays into 
his eyes ; blinding him for the moment. 

The room was full of sunshine. He soon 
realized, that the day was fast declining ; and 
that the sun, ere it sank beneath the horizon, 
had given the light of its blessing to the earth. 

His task was done. In its completion he 
rejoiced. At last, the least atom of doubt was 
removed from his mind. 

The day had not been so disagreeable after 
all. The sunlight to Apollo, had never seemed 
more golden. He looked fondly at the Written 
Leaves. They were as a gift from the New 
Year. He wondered where Sappho had found 
them ; and gathering his manuscript together, 
he Vent in search of her. 

He would read to Sappho, and to Fortunatus, 
what he had written. Sappho, at least, must 
acknowledge that her ideas were entirely false. 
And thus engrossed in his own cogitations, he 
entirely forgot The Written Leaves from The 
Book of Life. 


A Story of the New Year. 


21 


CHAPTER VII. 

Although The Written Leaves were neglected, 
and overlooked upon the earth; the New Year 
had bemoaned their loss all through the day, 
and had busily searched for them. For they 
must be replaced in The Book of Life, ere the 
sun went down. 

The New Year did not know upon what por- 
tion of the earth they had fallen. 

The hour for the setting of the sun had al- 
most come. The last beams were shining, but 
not so brightly as before. They were slowly, 
but surely fading. They lingered longest, upon 
the table where lay The Written Leaves. 

The sun’s last ray sank from sight, and soon 
Jove’s thunderbolts smote the air in anger. 
For the sun had descended, and the Leaves 
had not been restored to The Book of Life. 

The room was deserted by all visible forms ; 
but the Fates had abided all through the day, 


22 


The Written Leaves. 


and had watched over the Leaves from The 
Book of Life. And now, the day had gone, 
and they had not yet woven the warp. 

It would indeed, be a new era. And they 
departed into the gloom. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The lamps were lighted, the curtains closely 
drawn, to banish the darkness from sight. Be- 
neath the swinging lamp, sat Apollo and Sappho. 
They were discussing the Leaves from The Book 
of Life. Sappho had related, how that Fortu- 
natus had found them ; and there had been 
many speculations, as to how they had come, 
and from whence. 

Sappho at last said : “As we can not pene- 
trate the mystery, suppose that you tell me 
your opinion of the contents — of the conclusions 
drawn. Did they not show you the fallacy of 
your own views ?” 


A Story of the New Year, 23 

“Not in the least. They only strengthened 
me. After I had read The Written Leaves, I 
wrote down the new thoughts suggested.” 

“ Where is your manuscript ?” 

“ I laid it here while you were singing.” 
Apollo took from the top of a small case of 
books, the manuscript. In the case, were choice 
editions of the poets. On it stood Poesy, who 
watched over the books which she had inspired. 
In this room often lingered Sappho, dividing 
her time between poetry and music. 

Apollo unrolled his manuscript and began 
reading. 

****** 

Sappho — It is perfect. You must call it “ The 
Victory of the Soul.” Yet, Apollo, the Soul 
will always seek for knowledge of the haven 
for which it is bound. 

Apollo — Wherefore ? Is the earth not fair, 
containing all that is bright and beautiful ? I 
see that you are still of your old opinions. I 
thought that after reading those Written Leaves, 


24 


The Written Leaves. 


you must change your views. Have you not 
found reason to do so ? 

Sappho replied firmly, “No,” and then hesi- 
tated, and over her face flitted a look of sur- 
prise and inquiry ; but before she could com- 
plete the sentence, Fortunatus came into the 
room. His face was aglow, and his voice had 
a pleasant ring, as he said, “Why, Apollo, 
were you not at the meeting of the Prehis- 
toric Society?” 

Apollo — I forgot it entirely. 

Fortunatus — Forgot it! You missed a most 
enjoyable feast. The discussions to-day, were 
unusually animated. The remarks of Dr. 
Faustus were particularly good in regard to 
our prehistoric friends. 

Apollo — You do not mean to say, that you 
have just returned from that meeting? 

Fortunatus — Yes. It is late, but it was the 
anniversary of the day upon which the Society 
was founded ; and there was much to be done. 
We examined our previous work — all positive 


A Story of the New Year, 25 

proofs — and laid out a scheme of work for the 
coming year. It was decided that our field of 
action should lie entirely in America. Dr. 
Faustus inquired for you, and said that you 
had quite deserted the Society. He called 
my attention to the fact that you had not 
attended during the year. 

Apollo — I have lost my interest in the pre- 
historic man. It is the welfare of the humanity 
of to-day, that occupies my thoughts. 

Fortunatus — Yes, yes. I know. That has 
been your line for sometime. But that is a 
matter of time, or accident. No laws or plans 
can be made for the future race. However, 
we will discuss that some other day. This Pre- 
historic Society is of great importance, and 
deserves your attention. The members do not 
pursue their investigations idly. 

Apollo looked up and smiled, as he said : 
“ Then they have changed their basis.” 

Fortunatus — Yes, somewhat. They hope to 
find traces of the existence of man in the be- 


26 


The Written Leaves. 


ginning. The evidences all prove that Darwin 
and Wallace were right, and every day brings 
new testimony to the value of their discovery. 

Apollo — Yet I can not but think that an un- 
due importance is given to the theory, in the 
endeavor to make it fit every condition of the 
past, present, and future life. It has not yet 
fulfilled all that is required of it. It has not 
explained the descent of the soul. A race of 
men evolved by that method, would possess no 
souls. 

Fortunatus — There are many men who have 
no souls. A common type, and they have but 
little mind. Their actions are merely the result 
of instinct and imitation, and they are incapa- 
ble of reasoning. Such a race of men, could 
have been evolved. Yet at the same period, 
another type may have lived, distinct in many 
particulars ; and in time they may have merged 
into each other. Thus the everlasting conflict 
among people. 

Here the remarks of Fortunatus were rather 


A Story of the New Year, 2 7 

abruptly closed, by a note that was brought to 
him. He arose, saying: “I promised to send 
Faustus a book, and now he wants it immedi- 
ately,” and he left the room. Sappho and 
Apollo soon resumed their converse. 

Apollo — Sappho, I am right. This everlast- 
ing murmur of why and wherefore, is a curse. 
You know my interest in the welfare of all 
humanity. My great wish that misery should 
be banished from the world ; so that at least 
during the little while that people sojourn here, 
happiness should be the common lot. 

Sappho — That day, I fear, will never come. 
Each person is too selfishly engrossed in his or 
her own affairs. 

Fortunatus returned too soon for Apollo and 
Sappho. He immediately inquired of Sappho 
if she had read The Written Leaves. 

Sappho — Yes, and I gave them to Apollo; 
and he has also read them. 

Fortunatus — What did you think of them? 
What was your opinion ? 


28 


The Written Leaves, 


Apollo — They were remarkable, and certainly 
very lucid. They suggested to me new 
thoughts, or, rather, they threw a -new light 
upon the old ones. 

Fortunatus — You are right. That was their 
peculiar characteristic. I, — who have made a 
lifelong study of the relation that Mind bears 
to Matter, — was never more enlightened upon 
the subject than I have been to-day. I shall 
now, to my entire satisfaction, finish my book 
upon Mind and Matter. 

Apollo — I did not think that they bore upon 
that subject. 

Fortunatus looked sternly at Apollo, as 
Sappho gave him the manuscript; telling him 
to read what Apollo had written, and then sit 
in judgment. While Fortunatus was reading, 
Sappho and Apollo sang their favorite airs. 
Sappho glanced backward now and then, to 
see how far Fortunatus had read. As he came 
to the last pa^es, they left the piano for the 
fireside, and waited for his comments. 


A Story of the New Year. 


29 


Holding the manuscript still in his hand, and 
tapping it slightly, he began : “ This is rather 
fanciful. You should remember that the sub- 
ject is worn out. No scientific man will be 
interested in it. And it is a question, whether 
some belief is not better than none, until the 
mind is formed.” 

Apollo — It is just while the mind is growing, 
that the belief in any supernatural power, is so 
deleterious. It destroys, or delays, the perfect- 
ing of the mind. 

Fortunatus — That is a knotty point, which 
only time can decide. It is a fact, that it mat- 
ters little, what the religion of the mass of the 
people is, — if they are satisfied with it, — and will 
not attempt to make others think as they do. 
But there lies the trouble — the wish that they 
all have to compel their friends and acquaint- 
ances to think as they do. It should be real- 
ized, that a religion is merely an individual in- 
terest or opinion; and that it can not concern 
the world at large. You know, that if in any 


a 


30 


The Writte7i Leaves. 


age, a man arises, who, disinterestedly and un- 
selfishly, devotes his time and energies to the 
people ; he is never thanked, and is seldom re- 
membered. His labors are never regarded, 
and he is always imposed upon. Throwing 
yourself headlong into the chasm, will not 
bridge it over. So rest contented. The only 
point that can be urged, is scientific education. 

Apollo — But I am not a philosopher, so I 
still hope, — though perhaps in vain. 

Fortunatus — Mere fancy, my boy, mere fancy. 
You must come to facts. 

Apollo — Facts? What are facts? 

Fortunatus — Facts are as foundation stones. 
They are always in position. 

Apollo — How long? Until philosophy an- 
alyzes them into atoms ? 

Sappho — Uncle, you see that Apollo will soon 
deny the existence of atoms, and then you 
know that Apollo is lost. 

Fortunatus — Yes, truly. And we have drifted 
far from our subject. I can not imagine, Apollo, 


A Story of the New Year. 3 1 

what you read in those Written Leaves, that 
could have suggested such thoughts. I also 
made a few notes, which you may read. 

Fortunatus drew from his pocket a notebook, 
and finding the place, passed it to Apollo, — who, 
when he had finished reading, returned it, — say- 
ing : “ Surely, there was nothing in The Written 
Leaves that could cause any one to write upon 
that subject.'’ 

Fortunatus gave the book to Sappho to read ; 
wiped his spectacles, took a turn across the 
room, and resumed his chair, saying: “Certainly, 
I could have made no mistake. The Written 
Leaves were very clear, as well as strongly ex- 
pressed ; and evidently the work of a master 
mind.’’ 

Apollo — Perhaps you were pressed for time, 
and did not read them attentively. 

Fortunatus — I assure you, I read them care- 
fully ; and I can not understand why it is, that 
we are not agreed in regard to the subject. 


32 


The Written Leaves, 


They appeared to me, to deal entirely with the 
problem of Mind and Matter. 

Sappho returned the notebook to Fortunatus, 
and sighing, said : “It seems to me, that you 
both misunderstood the purport of The Written 
Leaves.” 

Fortunatus looked searchingly at her, as if 
expecting to see her thoughts, and said: “You 
remember their contents?” 

Sappho — Y es, they were certainly different 
from the subject of Apollo’s manuscript. 
Neither did they dwell upon the subject which 
you have treated. 

Fortunatus — Indeed, that is most strange. 
Well, the point is easily settled. Where are 
The Written Leaves? 

They all went to the library, and stepped 
forward eagerly. Upon the table lay the Leaves 
from The Book of Life. But they were as spot- 
less as the snow. As they silently gazed upon 
them, Fortunatus raised them one by one, and 
then said; “These are the Leaves, but where 


A Story of the New Year. 33 

are the words?” pausing, as if he sought an- 
swer from Apollo and Sappho. 

The words were no more. 

Fortunatus — I must examine into this. Bring 
me my strongest magnifying glass. 

They all in turn, looked at The“ Written 
Leaves, but not a trace of a word could be 
found upon them. 

Fortunatus — They have disappeared. And 
you, Apollo, — wrote what they inspired you to 
write ; and I, — jotted down some of the prin- 
cipal thoughts which they aroused in my mind. 
And you, Sappho, — also read The Written 
Leaves. Now tell us what you read. 

Sappho — You both read them, and know that 
they were wonderful. Yet, as I think of them 
now, they seem so woven in with my own be- 
liefs and cherished ideas, that I hesitate, — surely 
the words must reappear, they can not be lost, 
faded from sight so soon. . 

Fortunatus — Yet you see that they are gone. 


3 ^ 


34 


The Written Teaves. 


Sappho — Too true. And now, I can only 
tell you what I remember. 

“ Humanity, should be the watchword of every 
one. There are, implanted in the breast of each 
human being, all of the most noble traits. Love 
of justice, mercy, and peace, — principles of the 
true, the good, and the beautiful ; the arts, 
poetry, and music. These are the safeguards, 
which ever protect and guide. But upon these, 
the Fates ever frown. They destroy when they 
are able, the first dawn of intelligence ; and 
when they fail, they pervert the powers which 
would lead to perfection. * 

“ People should not be taught to fear death, 
nor in life to prepare for it ; but rather to pre- 
pare for life. Not by each person selfishly 
valuing the individual life above those by 
whom they are surrounded, but by seeking the 
happiness of all. For no life can depend upon 
the life of another. • It is complete, and perfect 
in itself. People wish for happiness, and think 
to gain it from the lives of others, but in vain. 


A Story of the New Year. 35 

Happiness, lies only in the exercise of the 
faculties which come with every life ; and which, 
if allowed full sway, would make, every human 
being perfect. Although the Fates often mar, 
they can not destroy life. But they give the 
impulse, which hurries man to his own ruin. 

“ is woman, who ever battles with the 
Fates, — who forever holds them at bay, and 
often renders them powerless. Men, blind to 
their own welfare, and as if intent on their own 
destruction, rush on, — and heed not woman’s 
cry of warning. But women are ever on the 
alert, and often save men in spite of them- 
selves. 

“That which is the intuitive sense, — which 
women alone possess, — is the greater light, 
which shines for them alone, and shows them 
the pathway that will lead to contentment ; but 
not to immortality, which is so longed for. 

“The cause of life, will never be known. 

“ In the search for it, man lost his happiness 
upon earth. The portals of life and of death. 


36 


The Written Leaves, 


are sealed to all human eyes ; and will be for- 
ever. 

“ Now, my thoughts become confused. Give 
me The Written Leaves. It may be that the 
words have returned. I see that they have not. 
I can remember no more.” 

"fhey all remained quiet for some moments.. 
Fortunatus examined The Written Leaves again. 
He held them in this light, and in that, and at 
last laid them down ; and, still looking at them, 
became immersed in thought. At last he spoke. 

“ There is but one thing more singular, than 
the disappearance of the writing ; for that may be 
accounted for in many ways. It is the fact, that 
we all give a different version of it. And yet, 
we all read the same Written Leaves. It is a 
question, whether the paper was so sensitive, 
that our own thoughts became imprinted upon 
it, and appeared as written words. And now 
that we are all together, perhaps our conflicting 
minds, render the pages blank. 

“ It is but a supposition, to be sure. Yet 


A Story of the New Year. 3 7 

now, I am impressed with a sense of loss, that 
I never felt before; and the air is heavy.” 

Sappho — Nay Uncle, you have lost nothing 
that you can not more than replace. They 
were mere words, which the atmosphere has 
caused to disappear. Come, let us go. I am 
in haste to be gone from this room. 

And followed by Fortunatus, Sappho left the 
room. But Apollo still lingered. 

He raised the Leaves from The Book of Life, 
to look once more upon them, when lo ! they 
shattered in his hands ; and the fragments flut- 
tering down, were scattered around him. Ere 
he could recover from his surprise, he heard 
Sappho calling. 

He turned out the light, but stood still for a 
moment, for he felt impelled to step backward 
into the gloom. As he hesitated, Sappho came 
into the hall, holding above her head a lamp, 
while with the other she shaded her eyes. In 
a low voice, that had in it a cadence of fear, 
she called Apollo. 


38 


The Written Leaves. 


He was soon by her side. Sappho drew a 
sigh of relief, as she said : “ Why did you re- 
main so long?” 

Apollo smiled, and took the lamp from her 
hand, saying : “ Come, and look once more at 
The Written Leaves.” 

They entered the room hand in hand. When 
Sappho saw The Written Leaves in fragments, 
she clasped her hands, saying : “Apollo, what 
have you done? Destroyed The Written 
Leaves !” 

' Apollo — I, Sappho? No. I would not for the 
world have marred one of them. When you 
left the room, I took them from the table, for 
one last look ; when they fell to pieces in my 
hands, and, as if imbued with life, they fluttered 
downward to the floor. 

Sappho — Alas ! my hopes are all gone. 

Suddenly a door opened. Amid the torrent 
of rain, gleamed the lightning. The hurrying 
wind, rushed into the room, caught up the frag- 
ments of The Written Leaves, — and eddying. 


A Story of the New Year. 39 

wafted them into the night ; before Dr. Faustus, 
who was entering, could close the door. 

Faustus — Ah ! it is midnight. I come late, but 
this is my first moment of leisure. Fortunatus 
scribbled me a note, asking me to come, and 
to see some wonderful writings which he had 
found. Where is Fortunatus ? And where are 
‘‘The Written Leaves,” as he styles them? 

Sappho — You come too late to see them. 
As you entered, the wind carried them away. 

Faustus — Indeed ! Perhaps you will soon tell 
me, that Fortunatus has also flown. I suppose 
that I can at least, see him. 

They arose with one accord, and went to 
seek Fortunatus. 

The fire had been replenished. Fortunatus 
sat before its genial blaze. 

He was no longer the Fortunatus who in the 
library had sought knowledge from The Written 
Leaves. He looked as if he were master of 
the world, and that all of its laws were at his 
command ; and that, in his benevolence, he suf- 


40 


The Written Leaves, 


fered weak humanity to exist. He greeted Dr. 
Faustus kindly ; and on inquiry, related all the 
circumstances connected with the discovery of 
The Written Leaves, but without immediate 
comment. Neither did he take part in the dis- 
cussion that followed. But when Apollo told of 
their destruction and final disappearance, he 
said: “So, they were perhaps chemically pre- 
pared. It is now too late, to attempt to pene- 
trate the mystery. The Written Leaves are 
gone, and can not be subjected to analysis.” 

Apollo — No analysis, could account for the 
fact, that each one of us gave a different version. 

Fortunatus — That is true. So, no opinion 
can be confirmed. But the little glimpses that 
come to us from an unknown source, should not 
be allowed to weigh too much ; nor, in fact, be 
given any importance, until analyzed. It is 
reason that must destroy our illusions. 

Faustus — But reason itself, is but an illusion 
to mortals. What to them seems true on one 
day, on the next they deride. Our very souls 


A Story of the New Year, 


41 


are not our own. They are played upon, and 
buffeted about ; first by good, and then by evil 
Spirits, — as we term them. 

“Where is the man who can call his soul 
his own? He may dedicate it to Religion, and 
find but vapory visions, which are forever flee- 
ing. And he must beware how he follows them 
to their abiding place, lest he find them false. 
He seeks the aid of Science, to iTnravel the 
mystery ; and finds it of the earth, earthy. He 
may analyze all things, and separate them into 
atoms ; and of not one particle of Soul, is there 
a trace. 

“Ah! the Soul is a ‘Will-o’-the-wisp’ — ever 
in darkness, forever flitting in the dismal 
swamp.” 

As Faustus spoke, his ruddy cheek paled, 
and his dark eyes gleamed with what seemed 
a troubled light; and as he went on, his face 
expressed the scorn, and the disdain of a proud 
spirit, that had been baffled in its pursuits. 

But his face in repose, revealed only the highly 


42 


The Written Leaves. 


intellectual man, who despised the weaknesses 
of humanity. 

His hair was inky black, as also were his 
eyes ; and when he looked at any one suddenly, 
the effect was almost electrical. He was quick 
in motion and in speech ; and yet he always 
produced the impression, that he held his power 
in reserve. To those who were his intellectual 
equals, he was a pleasant companion. 

Fortunatus turned to Faustus, with a benevo- 
lent smile, and said : “ Faustus, my friend, I 

wish that you could have read The Written 
Leaves. They would have calmed your turbu- 
lent spirit, and have brought you peace. 

“Since I have read them, I have become 
conscious of the futility of all discussions upon 
the existence of the Soul. Future generations 
will regard them with surprise, as we do the 
search for the Philosopher’s Stone. 

“If we do our duty in the present, it will 
not be long before the mind of man will become 
stronger, and reason will reign supreme in all. 


A Story 'of the New Year. 


43 


“ But the people must beware of the past. 
They can gain but little knowledge there. 

“ I repeat what I said to-day at the Club. 
The Influence of History upon Civilization, may 
be deleterious, and impede advancement. 

“ This, Faustus, is the conclusion of thq whole 
matter — and it is late. See, the hand of Time 
has run past the hour of twelve, and the first 
day of^the Year 1893, has passed away.” 









The Christmas Card. 


I 


f 






f 





I 

I 








r 

• / 

•* 


ir. A > ,1 




1 


/ 


f 

« ♦ 




-Wi »r»»* 









✓ 


4 


</ 


I 


« 

I 


i 


I 

I 





\ 




The Christmas Card. 


CHAPTER I. 

“Christmas is coming, Christmas is coming. 
Do you not hear the bells ringing? jingling 
most merrily? 

‘ ‘ On Christmas Eve the bells were rung, 

On Christmas Eve the mass was sung” — 

and the speaker paused. 

Before the bright fire stood Christabel, a 
pretty miss of eighteen winters. She looked 
as if she had come from the Northland. A 
lithe blonde. Hair of gold hung in heavy - 
braids below her waist. Her forehead low, 
brows straight. Eyes of steely blue, that 
gazed at the bright fire undauntedly. Fea- 
tures, clear cut. Her cheeks and lips, as pink 
as coral. Straight and erect she stood, her 


47 


48 


The Christmas Card. 


hands clasped before her. She looked not at 
her companion, but into the fire, as she con- 
tinued : “ Do you hear the bells chiming, 
Mary?’^ 

“Yes. They once more herald to the world, 
the message, ‘Peace and goodwill unto men.”' 
The speaker had answered slowly, as if her 
thoughts were far off. Her voice was rich 
and low. She leaned back in her chair, her 
eyes looking into space. Large black eyes, 
with brows most delicately arched. Her raven 
hair was coiled high upon her head, and rippled 
back from her forehead and temples. Her 
elbows rested on the arms of her chair, and 
her hands were brought together, the finger 
tips slightly touching, and showing the rosy 
palms. Beautiful hands ! They were most ex- 
quisitely molded, the fingers long and tapering. 

The two companions became silent. Each 
busy with her own thoughts, and listening to 
the merry Christmas bells ringing. 

Christabel again spoke : 


The Christmas Card. 


49 


“O, those Christmas bells! When I hear 
them clanging in the frosty air, I wish that I 
was a child again, with all of that delightful 
feeling of expectancy and uncertainty. When 
I used to hear the bells ringing, and the wind 
sweeping along, I would see Old Santa Claus 
riding through the air, and covered with snow. 
And I would listen to the wind whistle down 
the chimney, and every moment hope that he 
would descend. In the morning each present 
held a magical value. It is strange, Mary, how 
we cling to the unknowable: 

“Could those days but come again, 

With their thorns and flowers. 

I would give the hope of years, 

. For those bygone hours.” 

Mary — Now the bells cease their joyous peal- 
ing, and one by one they strike farewell to 
Christmas Eve. The Star of Bethlehem has 
arisen. A new Christ will come to say, “Peace 
and goodwill unto men.” And will men heed? 


4 


50 


The Christmas Card. 


Christabel — No, Mary, no. ’Tis an idle ques- 
tion. Christmas is for children, not for men. 

Mary — Once, Christabel, they were all chil- 
dren. Will they remember to-night their chil- 
dren, and bring them gifts in memory that 
Christ did come ? 

Christabel — No, Mary, no. But the mothers 
will. There is not a mother in Christendom, 
that has not told her little lisping babe, that 
Santa Claus comes to-night. Not a mother, 
that has not for the whole year, with pleasure, 
led her children to believe in the old story ; 
and joyed in the signs of their innocent belief. 
When the time comes that she must break the 
spell, with what tender solicitude does she lead 
them to other joys: and teach them to give, 
even as they have received. Mothers make 
Christmas. 

Mary — But to-morrow morning, Christabel, 
when the Christmas bells do ring, and the 
altars are bedecked with flowers, — and joyous 
songs are sung. — When the minister invokes a 


The Christmas Card, 


51 


blessing, and tells how Christ came as an inno- 
cent babe to earth to save men : — will people 
not pause, — and think ? 

Christabel turned quickly, and looked at her 
friend, and smiled when she saw her gazing 
into space: “Think, Mary, think what?” 

Mary — Think of their own lives, — of the mis- 
ery of the world. 

Christabel — No. Such thoughts will not flit 
across their minds. People leave the misery 
of the world in the hands of God, my Mary. 
Consider, for one instant, our fashionable audi- 
ences, our eloquent pastor, and then cast the 
eye away back, and beside the Sea of Galilee ; 
where Christ did preach to a motley crowd, 
and teach to them that they had souls. 

Mary — To-day, Christabel, the souls of men 
are asleep. Would that they could be awak- 
ened. Would that I had the power. 

Christabel — Women have no power, my Mary. 
They have but souls. They can but pray, and 
hope. 


52 


The Christmas Card, 


Mary — Their hopes and prayers ascend to 
heaven, and seem never to be answered. Yet 
I will pray to-night, and ask that by to-morrow’s 
dawn an invisible Christ may come, and wake 
the sleeping souls of men. 

Christabel — May your prayer be granted. 
Good- night, my Mary. To-morrow, I will look 
around, and see if the souls of men are awake. 


CHAPTER II. 

When Christmas morning came, the ground 
was covered with a snow-white mantle. The 
streets were silent. As far as the eye could 
see, not a footprint marred the purity of the 
snow. The sun did not show his face. The 
air was still. Over the housetops, curled the 
blue smoke. For children had long ago awak- 
ened the households. 

Almost the first feet to press the snow, were 
those of children. They stole from the houses. 


The Christmas Card. 


53 


and stepping into the snow, looked back to see 
their footprints, in delight. It was a new world 
to them. Soon, boys with sleds, were seen 
dashing down the street, rushing into the deep- 
est drifts ; sometimes pausing to fling a snow- 
ball at a companion, and then running madly 
on. Whither? To see the wonder of the snow- 
white earth. 

Christmas day had begun, and all the world 
was astir. As the bells rang out clearly, (calling 
pious souls to prayer), the snow again began 
to fall. 

Christabel had arisen late. She now stood 
looking out of the window, wondering where 
Mary had gone. Soon she saw her coming. 
She came in, shook the snow from her mantle, 
saying: “See, Christabel, I am almost a snow 
image.” 

Christabel — I would not see you in such a 
guise. Come to the fire quickly, that you may 
melt. Where did you go so early? 

Mary — It is not early. I awoke at the dawn 


54 


The Christmas Card. 


of day, and it was so still, that I hardly realized 
that it was Christmas morning until I saw my 
gifts. When the light first shone on the Ma- 
donna, she seemed to have just alighted on 
the clouds, so lightly was she poised. Truly, 
Raphael was inspired by faith sublime, when he 
painted that Madonna. Such faith does not 
exist to-day. It was your gift, ^ Christabel ? 

Christabel — Y es. 

Mary — I thought so. You must be a ver- 
itable Santa Claus to have hung it in my room 
without waking me. 

Christabel — It was difficult. You slept so 
lightly, that I was almost afraid to breathe. 
But you only sighed. 

Mary — I must have slept more heavily than 
is my wont. One of my gifts puzzles me ex- 
ceedingly. See this blank book, inscribed with 
my name. I know not who sent it. 

Christabel — It is handsomely bound in Rus- 
sian leather. And such beautiful paper ! It 
looks as if the book had been made especially 


The Christmas Card. 


55 


for you. Ah, Mary! Some one has found out 
that you keep a diary. 

Mary — Yes, it would seem so. ’T is singular. 
I had decided that this next year I would not 
keep a journal, but that I would let my thoughts 
run riot. And now this beautiful book has 
come. I will keep it, and maybe I will change 
my mind. To-day, I look to see the result of 
my prayers and work for the past year. 

Christabel — Your work has been almost in- 
cessant. 

Mary — I thought it but my duty to pray, and 
give all my time during the year to the allevi- 
ation of human suffering. And many women 
all over the world have done the same. We 
ought by to-day, to see some evidence that our 
prayers have been answered. 

Christabel — You can all know that your work 
would have produced the same results, without 
the intervention of prayer. 

Mary — That is what I wished to know. That 
is the question that I have asked this morning. 


56 


The Christmas Card, 


Christabel — This morning? 

Mary — Yes. This morning, we delivered 
Christmas baskets to the poor. As I supplied 
the wants of many of them, and gave them 
words of cheer, (for it is cruel to dishearten 
them) I wondered if it were possible for such 
miserable conditions to exist forever. 

Christabel — You do not mean to tell me 
that you had the temerity to ask such a ques- 
tion. 

Mary — Yes. When we were done, and the 
door was closed, and we were preparing to de- 
part, they were all congratulating themselves. 
I could not say a word. Seeing that I was 
silent, the pastor approached me and said, that 
“ Much of the success of the undertaking was 
due to my efforts.” Then I asked him — ‘ If 
he thought that we had succeeded in bet- 
tering the condition of humanity ?” And he 
answered, “ Certainly ; that all the people that 
had come, had gone home happy.” “ But,” I 


The Christmas Card, 


57 


urged, “ That would last but a little while. 
What we had just done, was tangible to them, 
and to us, but that we had not the power to 
relieve them from want and misery for more 
than a short time. Would our prayers ever 
entirely relieve humanity ?” And he said, that 
“We must rely on the Lord.’' Still I went on, 
and said “ That I could see the result of my 
labor, but not of my prayers ; and to-day I 
asked him and myself, of what benefit were my 
prayers?” 

Christabel — And he did not answer? 

Mary — No, he looked at me aghast. But I 
tpld him, — that for the whole year I had prayed, 
that sorrow might be removed from the earth, — 
that a greater light might dawn, — and that when 
we commemorated the birth of Christ, that a new 
light should come to the souls of men, as Christ 
once came to earth. When I had finished, do 
you know, Christabel, that he said, — “ He thought 
that my prayers would be answered?” 

Christabel — Indeed, they should be, Mary, if 


58 


The Christmas Card. 


prayers were ever answered in this world ; but 
I doubt. 

Mary — I know that you do ; and to-day I am 
ready to question, if you are not right. God 
seems powerless to awake the souls of men ; 
and until they are aroused, there will be. great 
suffering. Even children will suffer. 

Christabel — Children, Mary, are borne upon 
wings ; and the weights and cares that lie so 
heavily upon us, are not felt by them. 

Mary — But they often suffer physically, from 
insufficient food and raiment. 

Christabel — But their little busy brains, so 
irresponsible, carry them above the real. They 
all have “Aladdin’s lamp.” 

“When I was a beggarly boy. 

And lived in a cellar damp, 

I had not a friend nor a toy, 

But I had Aladdin’s lamp : 

When I could not sleep for cold, 

I had fire enough in my brain, 

And builded, with roofs of gold. 

My beautiful castles in Spain ! 


The Christmas Card, 


59 


“Since then I have toiled night and day, 

I have money and power good store, 

But I’d give all my lamps of silver bright. 

For one that is mine no more; 

Take, Fortune, whatever you choose, 

You gave, and may snatch again: 

I have nothing ’t would pain me to lose. 

For I own no more castles in Spain !” 

And we, Mary — we, — “ own no more castles in 
Spain!” But come to the window, and see how 
changed is our outlook. The snow has covered 
every obstruction from view, and even now it 
effaces the footsteps of the people passing by. 
The trellis over which the rose vine runs, is 
hardly to be seen for the soft snow. How far 
away seem the houses. Each household is 
“ Snowbound.” 

Mary — It is beautiful, this world ol ours. 
Christabel — Yes, too beautiful to allow a 
shadow to rest upon it. And to-day there are 
no shadows. ’T is a day of joy to the children. 
I enter a plea for Christmas. Not on account 


6o 


The Christmas Card. 


of the legend old, but for the allegiance I owe 
to Santa Claus. I would not destroy Christmas. 

Mary — I have not forgotten you, Christabel. 
Come, I will show you your gifts. (She walked 
across the room, and pulled aside the portiere 
which led into a narrow recess lighted by a 
window — a dainty abode for a saint.) Here I 
have had it hidden, so that your eye might not 
spy it. Here, my dear Christabel, is your 
Christmas gift. 

Christabel — What ! a book ! In blue velvet ! 
Emblazoned with a star! Here are all my 
favorite poems! “Longing,” “The Fountain 
of Youth,” “The Lady of the Lake” — the 
sweetest lay Scott ever wrote. Mary! 

Mary — Yes. I took all your favorite poems 
and had them bound together. 

Christabel — You have fulfilled my unspoken 
wish. It is lovely. At the last you have put 
“The Day is Done.” (And Christabel read it 
aloud.) It is the gem of Longfellow’s poems. 
I always read it with new delight. 


The Christmas Card. 


6r 


Mary — I did not forget that it was your birth- 
day also. I had this pin fashioned, that you 
might think of me ^every day. 

The pin was a star of frosty silver, and in 
the center, and at each point, sparkled a tiny 
diamond. 

Christabel — It is an equisite jewel, Mary. I 
will wear it forever. (And she caught it in her 
blue velvet collar). 

When left alone, Mary began to turn the 
leaves of her book, and there floated on the 
air, the perfume of the roses in June. When 
Christabel returned, she said : “ Christabel, is 
not the room like a garden of roses?” 

Christabel — Yes. Where are the roses? 

Mary — I have them. (Christabel came to 
her side, and she went on turning the leaves.) 
Every page is like a rose petal. Is it not ? 

Christabel — It is delightful. It perfumes the 
whole room. I wonder who sent it? 

Mary — I can not imagine (still turning the 


62 


The Christmas Card. 


leaves over as Christabel stood by her side. 
When the last page was turned, she said) : 

“ ’T is a wondrous book,' Mary, but it will be 
priceless, when filled with your writings.” 

Mary — I will not mar a page with a serious 
thought. 

Christabel — Then dedicate it to Fancy. 

Mary — I will dedicate it on the New Year. 
It may be though, that it will remain as spot- 
less as it is this moment. Will you not keep 
a diary this coming year? 

Christabel — No. My thoughts are too un- 
settled to transfer to paper. They are always 
roving. 

The church bells ringing merrily, Mary arose, 
and Christabel asked : “Will you go to church?” 

Mary — Yes. I will go, and pray once more 
that we may see the light. 


The Christmas Card. 


63 


CHAPTER III. 

As noonday approached, Christabel stood at 
the window, watching for Mary. Soon she saw 
her coming in company with Dr. Pliny. She 
seemed dejected, and was listening to her 
companion with little interest. In a few min- 
utes she entered, and stood gazing into the 
fire, until Christabel asked, “Are you tired?” 

Mary — No, Christabel. I am disappointed. 

Christabel — Tell me all that transpired. 

Mary — The church was beautifully decorated, 
as I knew it would be. The music was fine. 
I do not think I ever heard the choir sing with 
more feeling, and my hopes were aroused. (And 
she looked at Christabel, with eyes bedewed 
with tears). 

Christabel — Yes, Mary. Music carries us 
away. 

Mary — But when the sermon began, I felt lost, 
and as if I never could pray again. 


4 


64 


The Christmas Card, 


Christabel — Was not the discourse of Dr. 
Pliny satisfactory? 

Mary — Dr. Pliny did not speak. A stranger 
was in his place, and all the remarks were 
vague and insufficient ; he seemed to have no 
comprehension of the subject. Every one 
looked as cold, — as if they all had been cut out 
of marble. I know not how I sustained my- 
self until church was out. It must have been 
the music, that carried me along. 

Christabel — My poor Mary. It was well that 
the service was short. 

Mary — Just as I thought that I could not 
live another minute, he closed his discourse; 
and the music began. Then I felt sustained. 
When the service closed, all the people seemed 
like strangers to me. I hurried away. 

Christabel — I thought that I saw Dr. Pliny 
come home with you. 

Mary — He did. When I got to the church 

door he was there, and he walked home with 


me. 


The Christmas Card, 


65 


Christabel — What did he say? 

Mary — I hardly listened, I was so disap- 
pointed. And now, Christabel, I think that my 
soul, has fallen asleep. 

Christabel — No, Mary, no. How did it hap- 
pen that Dr. Pliny did not preach ? 

Mary — He gave some reason, but I did not 
notice what it was. I think he said, that he 
would call, or write. 

Christabel — There is some one at the door 
now. (And Christabel went, and returned with 
a box. It was quickly opened. In it lay a 
wreath of white roses. In the center was a 
card.) Now you have real roses, Mary. Are 
they not fragrant? (And they read this card 
together.) 


66 


The Christmas Card. 


“This earth is but a passing resting place. As the 
Swallows flit to sunnier climes across the seas, — so, some 
day, will all speed away : borne by the spirit invisible. 
'Tis well that we flee from earth. If the spirit enveloped 
the body, life on earth would be intolerable. 

“Oft, by chance, there comes to earth, one in whom 
the spiritual life is transcendent. This fair flower, forever 
seeks to exalt humanity; — to bring the spiritual to earth. 
The wish is vain. The spiritual light that you see, and 
are surrounded by, is not visible to all; and even its very 
existence is not conceded. 

“Would fair flower, that I could send thy spirit rest. 
Turn to other scenes. Give thy hand to Poesy, and she 
will lead thee to flowery meads, and with sweet music 
will attend thee. Farewell.” 


The Advent of the New Year. 



\ 





' c 


.i 






< ' 





' ^ 

j 

✓ 


<■ ,*• J 


> 


*r*, 


^ V '■ 

j"'" J--' 

• .^^_I■' -1 


« «.' 




,*s 

IkitV 


■a 


• A 


.V *'• 



7 


VV: 

•V 




» ^ 


h I 


. '^r\< 


^ A 


« 




4«'- 


'I 


• i . 

■ J. 


I .•■ 

ti 


Am 


+/ ’ 








% 


?• 1 


*1 


i 


. 

• .# - 


\ t 


•I 


» > 


- ' , ■ ■'A* 

V ^ fTr* 




*■ 








, / 

4 ^ 


- •' 

I 

■ 


^»,>w';. 


•r*x 


' ^ : 

' ^ - 


I, 




/ . ’.^ V 4-; 




*. >4 




V. ♦ 

. ' , '•^- . .■»■ 

¥y 4'* • 

-W-' r^jii * f4^.- ^ 

& ' • 'V ' / > 

^ .Am 


* * •• '’ 


4i 


< V . » 


*4^ 


• 4 • 
I 


•» 




4 Jk 


^ > ' 





' 'k »■ ' " 

▲ ♦ • 


‘ ^ ' A 1 

- ' • ■ "A’'. ■ 

.r • - -v . 



The Advent of the New Year. 


It was the last day of the month, and De- 
cember bethought himself that he would cover 
the earth with a snow-white mantle, as a sportive 
farewell. As the shades of night came on, he 
nodded his head, well pleased ; folded his robe 
about him, and laid down to rest. 

The wind with a gentle moan, died away. 
The moon arose, and shone resplendent over 
the snow-clad earth. Each star twinkled and 
blinked, and never a cloud passed over the sky. 

December gone, the elements had no guide. 
So the Year 1892, grown old and hoary, sat 
him down to muse ; his hands resting on the 
Book of Life. ^ 

“ Soon I will depart. My hours are num- 
bered. For days I have heard the people say- 
ing, — some half gleefully, some half sadly, — 

(69) 


70 The Advent of the New Year, 

‘ The Old Year will soon be gone. When the 
New Year comes, I will turn over a new leaf.’ 

“ Fools ! do they not know that it is I, who 
have turned the leaves of the Book of Life for 
them, day by day? Every day I have turned 
a leaf over. 

“Now I lift this great Book of Life in my 
hands, — Zounds ! how heavy it has become. 
Truly, I am getting old. Yet, when I first held 
it, — ’twas as light as a bauble. I am weary of 
this great Book of Life, with which I am so 
soon to part. 

“ To-night, I open it once more, ere I give 
it into the hands of the New Year. To-night, 
once more, I shall see Father Time, with his 
book. In that book, he inscribes the deeds of 
men. 

“ To-day, once more, I have seen misguided 
mortals thwart the decrees of life. Deluded 
creatures ! They think that they know, — that 
they are wise, — when they hurry to their own 
destruction. 


The Advent of the New Year, 71 

“Again I will read the leaf, which to-day I 
turned in this great Book of Life. 
******* 

“ ’T is grand ! Wonderful, that it here should 
be written. How much happier mortals would 
have been, had all been fulfilled. O, you poor 
Earthlings ! You know not what you have 
missed. You are all wrapped up in your own 
delusions. 

“Ah! Good Father Time, is it you?” 

Time. — Yea, yea. It is I, — I, who have al- 
ways been, and who will be forever. 

Old Year. — Have you your book \vith you? 

Time. — Yes. The book in which all read, 
and from which none do profit. 

Old Year. — Would that man could read in 
the Book of Life. 

Time. — Ha! What? Your Book! Why, 
you can but turn a leaf a day. While my book, 
is always open. Any day it can be read. 

Old Year. — Too true. But in this great 


72 The Advent of the New Year. 

Book, are written the decrees of life. While 
you, — you but inscribe the deeds of men. 

Time. — Yea. I inscribe them deep, with a 
pen of iron, that men may read, what fools men 
have been. But they seldom profit by the 
knowledge. 

Old Year. — No. That they do not. It is 

well that their power is limited. 

Time. — All power is limited. The stupid 
Book which thou dost hold in thy hand, allows 
but one leaf to be turned in a day. Try, if 
thou canst turn another leaf. 

Old Year. — No. To-morrow, the baby fingers 
of the New Year, will turn the leaf. 

Time. — And to-morrow I will inscribe these 
blank pages. Zounds ! Thy Book is no better 
than mine. 

Old Year. — It is, indeed, better. Read the 
glorious promises that should have been fulfilled 
to-day. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Time. — And read thou, how that they were 


The Advent of the New Year. 73 

not fulfilled. Ha, ha ! Of what good were the 
decrees, when man could so turn and twist 
them, that thou canst scarce trace their sem- 
blance ? 

Old Year. — ’T is thy cursM book, that does 
the mischief. When man should advance, 
grow, — he takes thy book and reads, — and 
straightway retraces his steps. 

Time. — How by all thy conscience, — how can 
man retrace his steps ? He lives but “ three 
score and ten,” then vanishes, and is replaced 
by others. 

Old Year. — Even so he does. But those who 
come after, and read thy book, endeavor to fol- 
low in the footsteps there traced — to form such 
kingdoms and governments as have existed be- 
fore ; and they waste their lives in vain efforts 
to transplant the past into the present. Man 
would not perpetrate such folly, if he could read 
in the Book of Life. 

Time. — Ha, ha. Give man thy Book to 
read, — and thou shalt see what a poor under- 


74 The Advent of the New Year. 

standing he possesses. He would not be con- 
tent, to turn only a leaf a day. Ah, you know 
not man. You have lived but a year, my sage 
1892 ; while I, — I, have existed forever. I 
know poor man in all the phases of his exist- 
ence. First, he would always live forever in 
this world. And you know that it is not written 
in your Book that he should. 

Old Year. — No. Never. 

Time. — Yet behold the folly of man. He 
builds for generations to come. He lays down 
his life for poor trifles, for mere beliefs, creeds, 
opinions. Look at the record. 
******* 

Old Year. — Yes, yes. I see. So unneces- 
sary. The decrees were different. 

Time. — They were indeed. But what mat- 
tered the decrees, when man saw not how they 
were to be fulfilled? 

Old Year. — Why did he not wait for them 
to be fulfilled? Why did he rush into the 
arena without sufficient thought ? Why did 


The Advent of the New Year. 


75 


man read thy book, and try to force the events 
of the new time into old grooves, until he de- 
stroyed his happiness? 

Time. — Why, — why did you not read to him 
from your great Book, so that he could under- 
stand, — that what has been, shall never be 
again? Even though he use his great force,- — 
his powerful brain, — he can not reinstate the 
past. Why, thou wise, sage, 1892? 

Old Year. — Because I was not so admonished. 
And now it is too late. See, even now, the 
New Year is quickly making his way towards 
us. And I must deliver into his hands this 
great Book of Life. I am loath to part with it. 

Time — Even so. Thou art like unto man. 

Old Year. — Not so. I would but pass it to 
older hands. See how young and blithe the 
New Year looks. ’T is a pretty sprite. Tell 
me, good Father Time, was I ever so young? 

Time. — Yes. When first I saw thee, picking 
thy way along, just so daintily. 

Old Year. — What ! And I knew thee not? 


76 The Advent of the New Year. 

Time. — No. The young know not, see not, 
care not, — for time. 

Old Year. — ’T is a pity. If thou hadst but 
have* spoken to me, and admonished me. Ah! 
How different it would have been for these poor 
mortals. 

Time. — See, my hand does not point to the 
figure twelve, for some minutes. Admonish 
thou the New Year, ere he takes the Book. 

Old Year. — I will. I will. Come hither, thou 
cherub of a New Year. 

New Year. — Thou art the Old Year? 

Old Year. — I am. 

New Year. — Then joyfully I come. Quickly 
pass me the Book of Life, and depart. 

Old Year. — Not so fast, boy. This is the 
great Book of Life. 

New Year. — I know it. You tell me what I 
know. Give me the Book. 

Old Year. — Listen. In it is written — 

New Year. — I can read what is written therein. 
Give me the Book. 


The Advent of the New Year. 77 

Old Year. — And when thou readest — read 
slowly, and ponder the deep meaning ; so that 
each decree may be impressed by thee upon 
the consciousness of man, in order that he may 
not be puffed up in his own folly, and seek to 
subvert the decrees of life. 

New Year. — Cease thy prattling, thou hoary 
head, and give me the Book. ^ 

Old Year. — Nay, nay, thou youngster, listen. 
These decrees are important. They should lead 
the march of humanity. So, when thou readest 
thou must not be in haste, and mingle the words 
so. that the meaning is not caught, and does not 
impress the mind of man. • Dost heed ? 

New Year. — Give me the Book. Thy trem- 
bling hands can hardly hold it. 

Old Year. — When thou hast the Book, thou 
wilt have no light burden. It will weigh thee 
down, and make thee old and hoary, even as 1. 
Is that not true. Father Time? 

New Year. — What? Time, Father Time? I 


78 The Advent of the New Year, 

see him not. I know not such a one, as 
Time. 

Old Year. — What! See you not Time, good 
Father Time? He has just passed by thee. 

Time. — Even as I told you, sage 1892, — the 
young know not, heed not time, until they 
miss it. 

New Y^ar. — Quickly give me the Book. 
Hear! They are ringing the bells to welcome 
me, and I have not the Book. 

Old Year. — Not so fast. The bells are chim- 
ing a sad farewell to me, as I depart. To- 
morrow, you will often be called, 1892. I will 
not soon be forgotten. 

New Year. — Cease thy talk. I care not if 
thou art forgotten, or remembered. Give me 
the Book of Life. 

Old Year. — When thou hast it, thou wilt not 
be so blithe. It is heavy. Ah, good Father 
Time, dost thou point to the figure twelve ? 
Now I pass to the New Year this great Book 
of Life. Farewell, a long farewell. 


The Advent of the New Year. 79 

New Year. — Why, the Book is as light as a 
feather. Farewell. 

And merrily the bells did chime, as the New 
Year gaily started on his career. 


I ^ 


iA i, , 

• ' 

s ^ 

ri ■ \ -S-» .. 

'■ "I .. 

(iV^ f 


i ■ ■ / s I*" 'V ' J r\- ^ M ' 






1 


* «• 


I \ » 

<>% 




•-» I 


M V 

• f 


Y 


•> 





■ \ ’<i 

M • < ? 


v<i 




i: 


/ 




j * 


t. 


I 




/ i 

> 



1 

> * 


► » ' 


• ^ 

i • 

■ . * 


•* ^ 




« <* 


>• - 

r .» 


if ^ 




I 


. ‘X,-:^-'r .v-;., 

• , ' , • J //• 


1 *. 



-nk- 


I: 


^.1/ 

i j 


' ' ' . -w 

I \ ^ 

A:' «•> 




<• 

> * 


• k 


t “i 


^ ^ w, •'. ^ t k 

I'-'* 

» 


•/ .k*'f 

i k 


(j > 

.4 


• < 


' ' f 

\‘ 




♦ *•. 


. j , 


y*- 


• t 




A ' • 

. « . 


iVC ■ 




2S 


.* I . ( 

s 


^1 


I 

. X 








0/ 

A 


. > 

k. -»- 


w:;.. 


• ,r ' 

■ ■ 

i£.’ - '■ 

'lO 


* ^ 

1, . •*' 







V. ^ 

■ > ‘ • 

At- » -■ . 

'iV >'., -••.•' 

•■'I • r . 

^ ' V , ‘ . 

, ' J • \f' ’ ' 

•'”■ ■' 

‘ NiV 

^ 4-v 


• ■ I 




V 




i s 

/’ 


f » 


yv, 

- /• 




'■ 


r 

I , 


\ .V 


4 ‘ . 


•i • 


.. / 




y 


V < •» 

. '• . . \ 


» 


••'Vs • 


f 

' r\ 


• / 




\ 

y I 

. I 
. #'• 




»♦ ,• -• .^ 






. V r . 


,.. y- 

< »> 


/. f 


.:4 


yV4[' 


•*; 'irf f** 

\- , . , 

I# 

• ^ 




)• V 


* H •, ••' 


4 ;>>' t., 

'r 


r 


'r J . 

< 1. 

V- 



^ u!- ■ 


f *4 


!>.• »> 


■;< 




r^. • 


■ ••.. J 


K 




M •/. 


T 1 A", 

II _ 

# 


M 

i ’. \ 


«4 

■I, 

-y 

: ^^ ■ 


.4 




‘ 4 


-%#V 


4 


•••’;/, •/. 


• /A ‘Li'/ 'U “ ** - J 


► . V 




» 

• * * » 




> • 


■A 


•a 


\ 


iTH '* 


W»f' ' 


« 



1 

.4 

* . > 


# 

1 ' 

>1 


'4 / ' » 

V » ,. /. 

.• >41 •■ 

» 

.'• . ■ 


■. ,f\ 


•4 • • C^ 

. -I • 


, 'y. 




■A • ' , ' ^ ' 


. ii 
* % 


fvy- 

« 


■ V' 


V ^ 

t ' 



• .• > 

.V ■ 

' •A 


‘''"v'l' ■ -V 

* -rf ^ • ‘ ■ ' ' 

•T- f ^ '.• ' • •. .. * I 


‘ f' 


W > 


*! tfk- 


S 


■ • I'.X • ’> 

ty^ » i *• *4k' V'A- 

TT^. '•'■ A' !• V 


■•<t 

I 

* ' f 


I* 


m 

: ,:' ■: c" 


J^;j ' •' >*4v 

aif-:', < - ■ 

... .'■ ■ ^■'■ 


/<■.-» *.“.*'.1. • , ’J V 

:«!;■ ■ 


•• ■•''-.yv.. • . 


* \ 
4 . 


-V ■>' 






4 ’ 


V - • 


<• 




*' .'‘f i- 





\ *ifA- 


( . « 

« 


•*A ^ . •i 


■■;'• i 


. k * 


O • 





• >1 ♦ 


I • 





\ 


-4- 

; 


. ^■ 


• .♦ 




.r> 


•' - / 

i4t. 


it.i; 






.. '"■ H 


‘\ 


\'V' ■. 
y " 



V 

•I > 


, »/ 'I 

’ ' .W*i' 

.♦'VaI.V 


‘ r . 





^ I 


1 ' 

• «. 




f 

I ' ♦ 


'/* r. w|!>'*< •' ■ 


f 


Y'' 

’ I *’«»•, -•I** 


• 

’■ Y’ .‘- ■ 

' f A • I •■Vv' 




1* * ' 






... .. 

• # -►•• y I' 


4 • 


A 


1, i- 
: \ 


V* . 




^ ' r. 

w s^'|i 


‘4.- 


'iJ* 


» 

■-• o ' 


» 

« s 


« i 

I 


I 





4 % I 


' * 
*t: 


1 




4 

•. y 

. -J 


r » 


* « 


> • • '-C 


■V-x 


1 « 



• / 



Cleopatra in Hades. 



Cleopatra in Hades. 


In the Scientific American of July 21, 1888; 
appeared the following paragraph, on “ The 
Death of Cleopatra.” “ Dr, Viaud Grand- 
Mariis, of Nantes has been holding an inquest 
on the sudden death of Cleopatra. He rejects 
the theory that her death was caused by the 
bite of a viper. She was accustomed to test 
the effect of various poisons on her slaves, in 
order to ascertain which caused the easiest 
death. Having shown that no viper was found 
in the room of the fair suicide, that her body 
presented no traces of bites, and that her two 
maid-servants were found dead or dying at the 
foot of her bed, he comes to the conclusion that 
her death was caused by ‘ Carbonic Oxide.' 
Bulletin General de Therapeutic.” 

After reading the above late in the evening, 

(83) 


84 


Cleopatra in Hades. 


I thought that if I were a Theosophist, I would 
hie me to Hades, present a copy of The Scien- 
tific American to Cleopatra, and hear her opin- 
ion upon the diagnosis rendered. I know not 
if my wishes gave me the power to carry out 
my intentions, or if in my sleep, came this vision. 

[Scene in Hades. — Cleopatra seated beneath 
a canopy of roses, sipping nectar. On one side 
of her stands Charmian. On the other side, 
Iras kneels to receive the cup. Cleopatra with 
a sigh passes the cup to Iras, and turning to 
Charmian, addresses her.] “ Good Charmian, 
time hangs heavily. Where is Marc Antony, 
that the slave kneels not at my feet ? — And 
Caesar, that he pays not court to me ? Think 
they that I would be more neglected than when 
upon the Earth ? 

“ Think of it Charmian, the base Antony 
killed himself, — not for me. He fell upon his 
sword because he had lost a paltry battle, and 
feared to face Octavius Caesar. Even then fear 
clung to him. Death not coming quickly, he 


Cleopatra in Hades. 


85 


called upon me to shelter him ; and I, — weak 
in woman’s compassion, sought to save him. 

“ Good Charmian, — Iras, — do you remember 
how we pulled at the ropes? How our weak 
hands became strong, as we bore the weight 
of the mighty warrior? 

“ Think you Charmian, that I would have 
gone to my death so readily, and have taken 
you both with me, had I known the truth ? 
No. — I would have remained upon the Earth, 
and have fooled Octavius Caesar to the top of 
his bent. 

“ Now we can smile and take pleasure, in 
recalling what seemed so serious then, although 
we know that it was all for naught. 

[Enter Octavia.] “ Here comes Octavia, my 
friend, whom I revere. Think you Charmian, 
that we would have been such friends had we 
met upon the Earth ? 

[Cleopatra greets Octavia.] “ Octavia, most 
welcome. Recline beneath the roses. 


86 Cleopatra in Hades. 

“ Octavia, a panorama of the past has glided 
before me.” 

[Octavia.] — Ah ! Even in this charmed sphere, 
doth memory play you such tricks ? 

[Cleopatra.] — I questioned Charmian as you 
came, as to whether, if you and I had met upon 
Earth, we would have been such friend. Would 
you have been the companion of my soul, then, 
as now ? 

[Octavia.] — Yea, that would I, if Marc Antony 
had not crossed our paths. Wonder rather, at 
the tolerance I showed Antony. Neglected, 
deserted, and at last homeless ; I thought 
always of his welfare, his .honor, his fame. 
Ever forgetting my own. But now it is passed. 
We will not repine. 

[Cleopatra.] — No. That would be useless. 
See ! There comes the base Antony, with 
Caesar, Octavius Caesar, Pompey, and their 
suits. 

[They enter, Julius Caesar in advance.] 

[Julius Caesar.] — All hail ! Do I behold the 


Cleopatra in Hades. 


87 


queens, with clouds of earth upon their brows ? 
Behold, the light of pleasure softly plays around 
you, and yet you stoop to earth ! 

[Octavia.] — Old memories hang around us. 
Cleopatra summoned them from earth, and they 
obeyed her royal mandate. 

[Caesar.] — Remember, Cleopatra, that you 
are queen no more ; nor am I the great Caesar. 
Unless it be that I play at Comedy, to be within 
your sphere. 

Ah! It is true, that the Earth is no more 
for us, yet we sigh for it. But stay, I will be 
again Caesar, the conqueror. Cleopatra once 
more sways the scepter over Egypt. I kneel 
at her feet. 

[He kneels, casting down his eyes ; sees a 
paper, takes it and rises.] 

[Caesar.] — Here is a message for the royal 
queen. May I dare to read it to Cleopatra, 
the star of Egypt ? It comes from the Earth, 
perhaps some vassal petitions for his head. 

[Cleopatra.] — Oh I It is joy to reign again. 


88 


Cleopatra in Hades. 


[She rises and plucks a rose.] — Here is my 
scepter. This lovely rose, more beautiful than 
all jeweled scepters. Kneel, that you may in- 
hale its perfume. 

[Caesar kneels again, and she lightly touches 
him with the rose.] 

[Cleopatra.] — Let the great Caesar rise, and 
read the petition. 

[Caesar reads.] — The Death of Cleopatra. 

[Cleopatra.] — They still remember me ; read 
on. 

[When Caesar has completed the reading, 
Cleopatra takes the paper from his hand, gazes 
at it with scorn, and exclaims.] 

“This it is to have reigned upon the Earth! 
Centuries, and centuries have passed. The 
very name of Ptolemy is a dead letter, and 
yet, — You hear what a mortal has said, at this 
late day I 

“Well do you know Octavius Caesar, that 
Proculius found me arrayed in my royal robes, 
the asp in venom, still clinging to my arm ; as 


Cleopatra in Hades, 


89 


I lay in my last sleep. Iras slumbering at my 
feet to awake no more upon the Earth.” 

[Octavius Caesar.] — It was as you say. Char- 
mian was still arranging the diadem upon your 
lifeless brow, and when Proculius asked, — “Was 
this well done Charmian?” she replied — “Yes, 
Roman, it was well done, for such a death 
became so great a queen.” — then sinking down, 
she followed you to this realm unknown to 
mortals. 

[Cleopatra.] — Yea! Too true! It was as 
you have said. It was my crown of glory; ‘and 
now, it has been snatched from my brow. 
What honor is left to me upon the Earth, 
now that the very annals of history have been 
destroyed ? 

What race of men think you Caesar, inhabits 
the Earth, that they can so occupy their time? 

[Caesar.] — They are but mortals, striving to 
determine the course of their lives. 

[Cleopatra.] — Think you that they advance, — 


90 


Cleopatra m Hades. 


that they have become more perfect people, — 
than those who lived on earth so long ago? 

[Caesar.] — It is a question. In those days 
the people marched on to glory. We lived our 
great thoughts, in great deeds of conquest ; 
and they were heralded over the world. 

We received our recompense, and were hon- 
ored by our fellow men, without delay. If the 
fates were unkind, we took our lives in our 
own hands. 

Our Philosophy was our solace, and our 
legacy to mankind ; only too soon to be neg- 
lected. 

Now, from time to time, we see great men 
pass by, who on the Earth have lived unhon- 
ored ; and the world knew not of their great- 
ness, until they were gone. 

[Octavia.] — Such a race should be pitied. Be 
comforted Cleopatra, the paper you hold in your 
hand, is but the work of a poor mortal. Look 
rather in compassion upon him. It is a mark 
of the deterioration of mankind. 


Cleopatra in Hades. 


91 


They grope in darkness, are forever stepping 
backward into the past, seeking the origin of 
the universe. 

If they could retrace step by step the mani- 
fold paths of the past, their minds would be- 
come blank, and the world to them would be 
a chaos. 

Come, let us banish the visions of Earth.” 

At these words they faded from sight, and 
their voices were heard no more. 










j^W-r ■■. , 

. . .^•/ ‘ • • -A .» . 1 , s’.< . 1 - 



[? ! i^\ 



1 

' -T 

<- 

*V ^ 

'r • 

.»• . 

I •' 

« '- • 

» ^ 

« 

.••,A i t 

' v- ' 

' , \V '•' 

' 1 

s 


t '. k” ' k . 

..■' "/-l' 

* 1 •• .., .ty ^ 

, , - I 

« 

l- *. 


1 I 
* 

I 








«* 


- *«' 


ini' .v 





a;i 

4 .<»l f.i’.t, r 


li 


” ■■- ■ 'Tw '■'■'^^^TRSII^ 

»* ^ ' > ' ’'■ • ‘ ^ ‘ i I ' ' ■ .‘n 'i / 

’ "'V ' ,•* 'I' ' V ‘ ' 




’ . > 


'» ** Ci ^ I., 

:yA , \ ‘ 


r. - 

V ‘ ' 




k ^ 










'• '*'‘k ■ 

! n ;A/ i/.A’ »;;.•*- / 

iv . HCncnRH * 



<' 


•/. .1 



' ;v K^- - 

K^.*C r - ■, ■/ ,•; 


V- .'. 


§■<!:' 

• . fc .• ^ 




!»«:« ...r 




^.v 


,r »' 


m 

o . ■■ i'^ 

lilt ' '.’ iV « ' , ' ITf 

K . , ■ < v , A ' •'W y ; Ai . ' N j / • .“j . 5 

db -» 4 *v D ' 



V'i -.-t;/ >, 


■ -v^iiV' '>""'«■■■ 'v;v' 

/wkOt'' >•■• ' :«/'J '- ■ , .:N'!*>-, " ■ 


r 


. V 




A' 

■a’.:;''' ' .' 


I .,J 


■ f. 


4i ''• 

.* %■• 

* I 

•• ■ .1 

•/ 


{ 





y-l; '«•.!■ 


““SfSilSE 


n wiifci 1 . 'liiKy 


■>* ' N 


t*<^r . .. 


.; '<^4 


( ' • 


'fi 


•■ .p 

; A,''. ' ■ 


'*y ■'< 'V/ 




'A v 'i! 


S..'4;v. •■ '< - 
■ fe .',;' '.fe~:'' y ._;:- v ? 

'^^ V* i EQliifmFlUUKb 

■ '. AV’^'-'r-k j . ^SSSSMT 
. y <. ‘ '• i , Vi ly ^ t ' y r / PflW * 0 "PfV 

— ■ ■■**- ■• : ■^, A-y -jj^;;;l 


■ .V.’, • 





■ ^ if 



' / v ; ■■ : ' 1 ’ « i / i -' • 

• ' r '• '• ^ -pir)/ y 

> J '^ 1 * i m \ I * ' 


■’• . .t 


‘ ' * \ • 

' , A: •■ 

,. ■' , .. '^•' "A.,.-,''.. 



■■ « t’U ^ MJ ' # 


♦ I 



.r'iv: 


\ f 


• < . i" . 

Ir 




. .. , ._«1' .U .-'. ' lie? irv" 'iinwtx-V®' -. ^ It j ■'.»•">“ ^ y. ' •■■' 
















